Cups of Coffee

The first one I enjoyed: on my way to a 7:30 a.m. writing class during my senior year of high school. August, 2008.

Since Christmas, 2009: from my single-cup Keurig coffeemaker that brews the perfect cup. I reheat it twice before finishing.

On school or work days: before I leave, a few sips while I close my eyes. The rest on the ten-minute drive down Chapman Avenue.

At the Starbucks on Chapman Avenue: while studying for finals, visiting old friends, eavesdropping, during a job interview, and when my aunt told me she and my cousin would be moving. Also while beginning to write this while avoiding studying for finals.

On summer mornings when my mom is home, as we solve the problems of the world together. Just not our own.

After breaking up with a boyfriend I loved but hadn’t been in love with for a while, and understanding that such a thing was a) possible and b) alright. May, 2010.

Throughout my trip to Hungary last summer, when no amount could keep me from falling asleep between teaching English classes. June 25-July 14, 2010.

The morning of my twentieth birthday, thinking about how weird birthdays are, and how I’d like to hang on to a few parts of nineteen a little longer. Maybe a few parts of the rest of the teens, too. March 26, 2011.

Last night, to keep me awake long enough to finish a story.

In Mammoth last summer before hiking. The girls poured coffee while the boys poured beer, and we scoffed at them. July, 2010.

At dinner with my oldest friend. We talked about how much we loved it. Winter, 2010.

At a café by the beach with a boy I spent an effortlessly splendid summer with, as he told me adding sweetener would ruin it. He drank a hot chocolate. Summer, 2010.

April of this year, while sitting on my bathroom floor with the lights off, using the leaking faucet as an anesthetic.

June of this year, while walking on a boardwalk in San Diego with three of my favorite people, as we discussed how much life is going to change.

My first introduction. After I spit it out my mom said to me, wise as she is, “Someday you’ll understand.” Winter, 2004.

Driving home from Las Vegas on three hours of sleep with the alcohol still seeping through my pores. I fell asleep at the wheel and we’re all alive. December 23, 2010.

The morning I found out I got the job. January 1, 2011. Actually, it was probably the afternoon, considering the date.

In Long Beach Airport waiting to board my first solo flight, trying to decide how I felt about being alone in an airport and all the metaphors that go along with it. April 16, 2011.

Eating breakfast with my best friend before leaving Boston, as we discussed the previous night’s success(es). April 21, 2011.

On the plane ride home, hoping I’d touch down anywhere else. April 21, 2011.

Thursday mornings this summer, slugging on the couch watching really shitty reality television that I record. (Don’t worry, I don’t watch that show about weird addictions. However, as a psych major I feel it might be necessary…for scientific purposes. Just like it’s necessary for me to watch Teen Mom…for sociological purposes.)

Last week while working at the Costa Mesa store, sullenly going over the latest idea for the novel that may not ever get written. July 22, 2011.

Tomorrow morning on the way to work, joyfully scribbling down in my Field Notes notebook the next idea for the novel that will get written, eventually.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Script

About a week or so ago at work, a “let’s discuss ways we can improve things” meeting eventually evolved into a “let’s encourage Jess on her dream of being a writer and discuss different films that excel in the area of character development” conversation. Yeah, it happened. One of my bosses suggested watching “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.” Last night, I finally got around to watching it.

Now, I went into this movie being told by one boss that it was the greatest love story of all time. Another boss told me he hated it. Bold statements, especially the first.

So I watched it. As the title of this post suggests, the script of this film is flawless. Listen to that first conversation between Joel and Clem on the train. If you don’t have an understanding for each of their characters by the end of that conversation, well, I would probably just tell you to stop watching. You’re probably one of those people who like the Twilight series more than the Harry Potter series. Actually, you’re probably the person that hasn’t read either series but still waits in line to see the next installment at midnight. And your favorite character in HP is Harry. Crucio! (You probably don’t know what that means.) I don’t know if I’m proud of or seriously concerned of my ability to work Harry Potter into everything.

Alright, back to it. This is when a movie review would put that “spoiler alert” warning thing up. It means to stop reading if you don’t want to know what happens in the movie. **Spoiler Alert**

As I watched Joel try to save his memories of Clem, I curled up into the fetal position and let the tears flow. It was to the point where I dramatically let them drip down my face and soak my pillow. No shame. Not only is Joel attempting to salvage Clem’s memory, he’s also forced to relive his memories with her for the last time. Regret is both inevitable and unbearable.

Clementine: I wish you'd stayed.

Joel:  I wish I'd stayed too. Now I wish I'd stayed. I wish I'd done a lot of things. Oh, God, I wish I had... I wish I'd stayed. I do.

(There’s at least one person that you want to have that exact exchange with. You need to be Joel, and say it, or you need to be Clem, and hear it.) Finding out about the relationship between Kirsten Dunst’s character and the doctor (whose names I can’t remember) didn’t help. Blindsided. She had her memory of their relationship erased and she fell in love with him again. That’s not really what the movie is about, though. Joel and Clem find themselves in a rather odd situation. Neither of them have memories of their first relationship, but they’re listening to tapes of themselves talk about the other person in pretty intimate ways. They’re told from the start what they’ll hate about each other and how fucked up their relationship is going to be. And what do they do? They say, “Okay.” But it’s so much more than “okay.” It’s “Yeah, we’re going to piss each other off. We’re going to bitch at each other a lot, and this is probably going to end the same way as it did the first time. But we don’t care.” To quote Matt, “’O.K.’ was the most sincere and touching version of ‘I love you’ that I have ever heard.” That’s what it’s all about, really. Joel and Clem being willing to go through hell all over again because they know, even if they fail miserably, it’ll be worth it. That’s when you know you love/loved someone. When you can look back on something that didn’t end the way you wanted it to, something that caused you a lot of heartache, and still want to do it all over again for the sake of what it was.

The point when calm tears turned into body-wrenching sobs?

Clementine: This is it, Joel. It’s going to be gone soon.

Joel: I know.

Clementine: What do we do?

Joel: Enjoy it.

Quite possibly the most beautiful idea that ever floated.

Luke.

Over the last couple months, I’ve been going to my elementary school to observe a kid for a child development class I’m taking.  I get to watch him through a one-way mirror and write down everything he does.  He’s four years old, and the cutest thing.  I’ve actually managed to become attached to him even though we’ve only had one interaction.  When he got to his classroom on Monday morning, his dad was carrying him.  He had his face buried in his dad’s neck and what looked like a death grip around his neck, and he let the rest of his body lay limp in his dad’s arms.  He finally let Dad put him down and, after a few minutes of father-son playtime around the room, he had forgotten he was homesick.  The Lego table called. 

I started thinking about this little guy, and I hope the rest of his life looks like that.  I hope his dad is around to make him feel better when he needs it, and push him out the door when he doesn’t know he needs it.  I hope he gets smarter than his parents one day, but I hope that day doesn’t come too soon.  I always get emotional when I think about the people in my life as babies, or in this case, children.  Shit, I get emotional when I think about myself as a baby.  I feel like that’s self-explanatory. 

A friend from my class comes to observe with me, and today we got talking about, more or less, how freaked out we are that we aren’t going to choose the right guy to spend our lives with, thus leading to us fucking up our own lives and eventually the lives of our kids in one way or another.  Totally cynical and depressing, I know.  I’m fascinated with family trends, and how people tend to choose a partner based off of what they experienced in their family of origin (their parents and siblings).  People tend to be attracted to other people based on what they’re used to.  Makes sense, and that’s totally cool if you’ve had nothing but loving relationships (not that you’re guaranteed to choose the right person because of that).  But then there’s the boy who started doing laundry and putting himself to bed at age 6 because his mom was too fucked up to do it herself.  He’s likely to choose someone he has to take care of, and he probably won’t let anyone close enough to take care of him, let alone think he deserves it. 

I’m going to bounce yet once more in this ramble, this time to Jersey Shore.  This season, one episode made me understand EVERYTHING about Ronnie and Sam’s relationship.  Ron’s mom calls the house plastered, and during their conversation, it seems pretty clear that this isn’t the first time it’s happened.  RINGALINGDING went the bell in my head.  Ronnie has a mom who has created some chaos in his life, and now he’s in a relationship with a chick who he fights with every day.  Family fucking trend, people, trickling on down.

I realize I’m coming off as saying that people will inevitably choose what they’re used to, good or bad.  I’m not that gloomy, I’m just saying that it makes sense.  I also realized I took “observing a cute kid” to “topics in psychology” to “Jersey Shore still explains everything.” Eh, it’s been a long week.